


Develop

by giwp



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anatomy, Collaboration, M/M, Medical School, SnK Minibang 2016, do you ever just wake up from the dead, so like....dick jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:45:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giwp/pseuds/giwp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco's two seconds from turning around and slapping the guy behind him into another dimension when suddenly everything feels like they're in the upside down and Marco finds himself partnered with the very guy himself. And to do what? Present and prepare a paper on the reproduction system for their anatomy class. All Marco can do to stay sane as the semester moves along is keep his mind busy and not reflect on the way his partner, Jean, giggles like a hyena. </p><p>But, at least he has his favorite photographer's weekly updates to keep him going, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Develop

**Author's Note:**

> guess who's back, back again....

Trost University wasn’t the biggest of campuses but it was enough to make the tiniest of freshmen, new to the larger world of sorta-supervised adulthood, intimidated. The school itself felt like it was sometimes hidden behind the nearby city’s skyscrapers but felt like an obstruction to the neighborhoods just on the other side of the highway. The hustle and bustle of the morning commuters deterred many from wanting to own more than a bike to get around the city and those who lived just 20 miles away could vouch for the pain that was felt during those 90 minute mornings spent staring at red taillights as morning radio hosts discusses pop culture phenomena you could care little about.

Shops and apartment blocks surrounded the school which made living and food expenses a little less difficult to those struggling on financial aids but the best part of the school had to be the far few but especially worthwhile treasures of Trost.

Many of the freshmen that have yet to explore the campus             wouldn’t be able to pinpoint every wonder of Trost. But those that have put a couple years’ worth of hunting and exploring through Trost and into the campus could lead you onto a tour of the area with no worries and many photo opportunities.

Marco wasn’t one of those guys.

The city wasn’t big, but for Marco there wasn’t much outside the places that helped him get through the semester with little trouble. The library, one of the coffee shops on campus, and whatever building that hour’s class belonged in.

He was someone that would easily recognize a landmark as something that belonged to his city but was absolutely terrible at giving you directions or even a vague idea of where it could be. And even that wasn’t because of any spontaneous adventures in the middle of the night to explore the city he’s been living in for the past 3 years.

Nope. It was mostly from his late night perusing on the internet when he just couldn’t suffer through another sheet of words he needed to memorize before the next exam. It was back in high school when his habits had formed blamed on the dreaded AP exam season.

Searching for something inspirational to motivate him through another night before an exam, Marco in his 17 year old prime had found websites dedicated to photography. Landscape and portraits had filled the screen and after a bit of clicking and finding himself an hour into his allotted study time, Marco had found himself going through pieces separated by its artist.

The places that he saw were both familiar and foreign to him. He recognized some from photos he’s seen friends take over past summer breaks and long weekends. Others he has a vague recollection of from stock photos and postcards of similar length. Then there were the ones that he had no clue where they could be taken from. Fountains and small bridges that look rustic and beautiful in the morning lights; silhouettes and gardens framed by twilight and the camera’s lens.

It was all captivating for Marco.

And even now, at the old age of 20 according to his younger sisters, he couldn’t help himself to living through the old and new moments captured and shining bright on his screen.

There were some days where the stress of class after class got to him and it was in these days that Marco liked to spend a little more time exploring. Opening up the bookmarked and fairly loved page was like a reprieve for him and he enjoyed being able to scroll through the menu and find new artists to look into. And if what he found had sufficed to initially calm him down and if time allowed him, he’d find himself searching for the adult coloring books and his watercolors to pass the time.

It wasn’t a hobby per se. He saw it as a de-stressor on top of his usual routine. Something to do. And if he went out and bought himself a set of acrylics and a small canvas every now and then, well, there wasn’t really an issue there.

He didn’t have a part-time job to go to, and he never felt anything but blessed for it, but it didn’t mean Marco spent hours just searching and looking at photos and painting out the little bits of inspiration he felt.

He was a medical student after all. Senior year, just like in high school, was the year that mattered and with too many chemistry and biology classes in his future, Marco had designated his entire third year now to getting everything else out of the way. That included taking another anatomy course to fill his schedule with something productive.

It was during the summer before as Marco had started putting together his schedule and getting his books ordered and ready for the next year that he’d stumbled on his new obsession.

The photographer had focused his works on landscapes. There hadn’t been a name to the artist besides the watermark at the bottom corner of each piece, but nonetheless the works had received their own category both on the page and in Marco’s mind.

The photos were somehow different to the ones Marco had seen. There was a raw emotion that he couldn’t place to each photo taken in the dead of night or the early morning light. The subjects, both out of focus and center of attention, felt to be commanding in attention and shying away from the spotlight. There wasn’t a way for Marco to express it outside of it being breathtaking and something Marco had never felt before.

And half the time he felt stupid for how much he’d get excited when he saw that the artist had uploaded another piece.

But, of course, after a summer of waiting every week with baited breathe for a single image to show up on the artist’s page – he’d had it bookmarked after he’d found himself going to that same page every day for a week – it was soon time for Marco to go back to school.

It wasn’t so much as packing to leave his parent’s home since Marco had started living off campus and a 10 minute walk away from school since his first year. It was more about mentally preparing himself for his last year in classes he knew he could handle with not too much hassle. His workload would be huge this year but it was all to keep him mentally and physically ready for his fourth year when he started his application for the medical program in Trost.

But Marco was ready.

 

* * *

 

At least he thought he was.

That was the case until he walked into his anatomy class.

Taught by his favorite professor Dr. Smith, full of bright-eyed second years and advanced freshmen that would keep him on his feet and feeling useful. He’d figured the class would be a piece of cake and an easy A as his junior year trudged towards the end.

But no.

Of course there was always that one person that just had to be the downer. The rotten apple of no one’s eye.

Marco wasn’t someone that was easily bothered or got heated because of a single person, but oh man was this guy making it really hard to keep Marco’s track record clean.

This guy, with hair that could confuse a man – a bright blond on top while the underside down to the nape of his neck stayed a deep brown color – seemed to find the most mundane lesson enough to set him into a fit of giggles. He wasn’t one to judge but the piercings that littered his ears and was off-putting for Marco and it made the small giggles he heard interspersed through the lectures even that more ridiculous.

The guy looked like a punk but the tinny mutterings and snickers as Dr. Smith went through the basics of the human anatomy made Marco wonder – as he seethed in the seat in front of him – why the guy was even in the class. He didn’t seem to fit amongst the shorter and more baby-faced younger kids in the class and Marco had to assume that he was probably around his age. He didn’t look like the “stereotypical med student” but Marco’s sisters even said that he didn’t look the part either once an entire semester of not cutting his hair came around.

And judging by his lack of excessive school supplies – coming to class with just the textbook and a notebook in hand – he was well-versed in the art of sleeping until the last minute and coming to class with the bare necessities.

There were other classes out there that filled the general education and upper division requirements and dozens of other sections offered in the university for someone to enroll in.

But nope.

Seemed like Marco was destined to spend his last year of peace listening and suffering through whatever had the guy behind him tittering into quiet hysterics.

It was a minor flaw to, what Marco considered, an easy system of getting through college and he knew that he’s have to just live through it but it didn’t mean the grating noise of the blond guy snorting behind him wasn’t a teensy bit annoying.

His only reprieve from classes, Marco often went home during the first few weeks of being back on campus and spent his time either searching for new inspiration or finding himself attempting at something looking like art. With little homework and readings being on the light-side early in the semester, Marco was given the blessing of free time and he tried to spend all of it either preparing ahead or doing something absolutely unproductive.

It was during this down time in the second week of classes that Marco realized rather than studying up on the vital organs he’d been staring at the open window on his laptop – recognizable photos that seemed to shine and reflect the water scene. A scene that he remembers seeing during his second year when his general education classes didn’t ask so much of him.

Picturesque moments flittered through his small memory of deciding one day to cross the pedestrian bridge that connected the campus to the shopping centers and residential areas across the Trost River.

He can remember the way the afternoon sunlight hit the golden bridge from over his shoulder – the water below glittering in the rays as people rode their bikes and walked across the bridge with their headphones in and minds somewhere else.

Marco had felt, at the time, as though the world that he was seeing was something the others couldn’t even imagine. Everything had seemed so bright it felt as though the air was lit with magic and Marco was meant to be its main and only audience.

Now looking at the image on the screen – taken at a different time and a different angle from where Marco had stood over a year ago – he couldn’t help the way his chest seemed to tighten as his eyes roamed over the photo.

There wasn’t a word to describe how he felt but Marco knew that once his throat seemed to close in whatever emotion it was that it was time to get back to working on schoolwork.

He closed out of the window, although remorsefully.

There would be time during the semester to visit the safe haven. Especially considering the circumstances of the seating arrangements.

 

* * *

 

“Isn’t this supposed to be, like, a freshmen class? Why do we need to do a group project? We should just get through the material and leave after a test or two.”

Marco cringes at the sound of something similar to chalkboard on nails. He resists the urge to turn around and tell the guy behind him – Jean according to the class roster – to quit complaining and stop dragging his chair across the cheap university-standard linoleum.

It’s already the third week of the semester and it’s here where everything seems to gear up for the rest of the next three months. A quick outline of today’s class schedule is written on the board courtesy of the teacher’s assistant, Levi, and in a penmanship that could rival any love-struck middle schooler’s love letter, the cause for the quiet hushed conversations around the room is scrawled out.

Professors from other classes have already begun the process of handing out and discussing the information and instructions for term projects and Marco’s been waiting anxiously to see what subject he’s be getting for this semester. The assigned options could range from any parts of the human body to even something that’s been more recently discovered or talked about in whatever anatomy magazine Dr. Smith is subscribed to. The topics were random and given out randomly and there was no guessing to how the groups were formed because _you gotta have some fun when you’ve been teaching the same thing for over a decade_.

In his freshmen year when he’d previously taken the course, Dr. Smith had assigned groups to work on the paper and presentation portion of the project. But that was before when the classes offered were far between. Now with so many sections available – none of which seemed to suit mister obnoxious Jean – the size of the class didn’t warrant groups of fours and fives.

Which only meant there were two other options of how the project organization would go down.

 _Either everyone was given their own topic to present and write about. (Which, honestly, would probably scare the shit out of the young, bright-eyed freshmen and wouldn’t be the best idea)_ , Marco thinks. _Or-_

Marco’s brought out of his thoughts as the door creaks open.

“Well aren’t we a bit chattier today? It’s good. You guys were worrying me what with how quiet you guys always are,” Dr. Smith says. He’s smiling that evil grin professors always deny having when they know they’re about to unleash hell. He drops his briefcase that’s probably full of handouts and notes onto the podium before shuffling out to pace the front of the lecture hall. “I’m guessing we’ve all looked over today’s schedule?”

There’s a few hums and sighs across the room as everyone tries to avoid eye contact with where Levi’s sitting next to the board.

Dr. Smith glances in Levi’s direction and with a nod of understanding and a miniscule sigh, he turns back to the class. “So for this semester – seeing as the new school year has brought out the light for the department chairs and they’ve noticed the growing numbers in out anatomy classes – the term project will be split into partners. There isn’t enough of you to warrant a group of three or four but also too many to allow everyone a chance to work by themselves.”

He takes in the various faces across the room. Marco chances a glance around and can’t help the tiny smile as he notices pairs already huddling together and others scrubbing their hands down their faces in exasperation.

“Partners will be assigned by me-” a groan echoes through the room. Dr. Smith chuckles and continues, “and the topic you will be discussing will come as I section you all off. The rest of today will be spent getting to know your partners and figuring out contact and meeting details. Before I give you your assignments, I would like to make it clear – especially to those that are young and new to the college life – stay on top of your work. Don’t be the one that mooches off their partner and sits low and hopes for a passing grade. And the opposite also applies; don’t try to handle the entire project on your own. Let your _part_ ner do their _part_. Now, should we get started?”

The class shuffles in their seats as Dr. Smith reaches into his briefcase. He pulls out a stack of stapled paper that Marco knows contains the basic outline and information for their topic. Although Smith is known for his work with the upper division courses, he never half-assed his part to make sure that even those that are just starting that the materials they needed to get everything done in a proper way. The packets most likely contained everything they would need to know down to how the conclusion should be written out.

It made the project easier to get through and a passing grade foolproof.

But of course that depended on who you ended up having to spend your once-quiet hours together with.

Marco had spaced out for a second. That is until he heard his name read out in a knowing tone from Dr. Smith. He looked up and caught his eye. “Marco Bodt. It’s good to see you again. If you would’ve came by, accommodations could’ve been made for a student assistant position.”

Marco smiles warmly. “That’s alright. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to brush up on the basics before next year and anyway my schedule – nor my counselor – would’ve allowed me to take on anything more than the work for this class.”

“Well it’s good to see you anyway, Marco.” He glances down at the sheet in his hands. The list of partners reflecting in his glasses from where Marco sits a bit higher than the podium. “Your partner this semester will be Jean Kirschstein – who actually is sitting right behind you. One of you please come down to grab your packet and your topic will be the reproductive system.”

The sound of giggling seems far off and muted as Marco tries to will himself to not let his mouth hang open, furrow his eyebrows, or throw a fit in indignation. He instead focuses his energy to trudge down the stairs and grab the assignment packet from Levi who’s standing characteristically like he couldn’t give a crap about the mental breakdown Marco knows he’s going to have over the next few months.

Marco mutters a quick “thank you” before slumping back up the stairs, his eyes never leaving his hands where he’s mindlessly flipping through the pages. He already knows what’s written through the pieces and how Dr. Smith wants the paper to look. But he would do anything to now have to look at the teeth-baring smile directed at him from behind his seat.

As he slides his way back to his seats – stepping over backpacks and feet of his classmates – Marco catches in the corner of his eye the way Jean is leaning forward and onto the back of Marco’s seat.

“Hey! So you’re Marco, right? My name is Jean.” A pale hand extends out in front of Marco’s sightline over the packet he’s still clutching onto for dear life. He looks up into tawny, light-brown eyes that burn with an intensity that unsettles Marco’s stomach. “Looks like we’re going to be partners.”

Marco looks down at the hand will outstretched in his direction. He takes it awkwardly from his position below Jean. They shake hands and Marco can feel his shoulder twinge from the uncomfortable position.

Taking his hand back, Marco clears his throat. “Right. Well we should probably start with swapping numbers and email addresses.” Setting the packet on his desk (with no intention on handing the papers over to Jean) Marco turns to hover over his tiny desk space in the aisle to talk to Jean who sits up in his seat with a smile. “I can start up a Google Docs page so that we can get started on the outline. I’ll post up the information tonight and send you an email.”

Marco’s reaching into his backpack to retrieve his phone so that he can’t save Jean’s contact information quickly and then book it out of the room when he hears someone clearing their throat above him.

Marco glances up through the mess of bangs that had fallen over his eyes.

Jean’s gaze seems more timid now but that same intensity he’s seen before comes back in a flash as Jean rubs a hand over the nape of his neck. “I just wanted to say that I’m glad we’re going to be partners. You seem like you really know your shi-stuff when it comes to lectures.” He clears his throat again with a dry cough. “I was actually wondering if you could show me how you did that thing.”

“That thing?” Marco asks dryly.

“You seemed to know the professor really well. Or at least he actually recognized you and seemed civil enough. I was just wondering how you did that. Ya know, like, make friends with professors. I’ve been here for three years and I still don’t get how people can just walk up to a professor and start a normal conversation with them. It must be real handy when it’s test season.”

Marco furrows his brows. “Are you insinuating that I cheat on my exams because I talk to a professor like he’s a normal human being?” There’s a bite to his words and although he knows that they’re still in the middle of class – in the middle of the classroom – Marco can’t help feeling a rush of anger at Jean for assuming the worst of Marco’s character.

Jean’s eyes widen and he hurriedly waves his arms around in front of him as his eyes glance around their general vicinity. “No! No no no!! That’s not what I meant. I just- you know what never mind.”

He grabs the phone that Marco’s now clutching dangerously tight and taps away at the screen as Marco squints hard and tries to even out his breathing.

It wouldn’t do them nor anyone else any good for him to lose his cool. Especially so early in the term with weeks on end of having to deal with Jean and their project.

He refocuses back to the present when he sees the dark case of his phone in front of him handled by Jean’s lithe fingers. He seems gentle with the tech, as if he doesn’t want to leave any finger prints along its screen but also make sure that the thing doesn’t plummet to the ground and shatter into pieces.

“Right…. Well I should head out now. Maybe you should go talk to the professor about your questions. I’ll email you the documents tonight so make sure you look over it before the next time we meet.”

With that, Marco stuffs the rest of his things into his backpack and spins on his heels to walk down the steps and out the door. He doesn’t take the chance to see what look Jean might have on his face. A small part of him hopes that he left the man a bit confused and hurt but Marco squashes that down to him being a bit petty at the result of the partnership.

As Marco walks out of the building and into the autumn pathways littered with falling leaves, he already has a plan and outline set out for what little interaction he’d have to deal with. There were sections that Marco could accomplish without any help and he hoped the same could be said for the other.

All that he can hope for is a serene semester with little to no sound coming from the other boy as they worked on their respective parts of the assignment.

Hoping that the few times they meet will only be to confer on notes and ideas to present on.

 

* * *

 

Wishful thinking and hoping was seeming to become a downfall for Marco as months progressed.

With every meeting and every forced-study session and every large cup of black coffee with 3 packets of sugar, Marco’s patience wore itself more and more thin.

They met in libraries, the campus research center, the student union, multiple cafes in and around campus – but no matter what, Marco couldn’t help the way he clipped his words at every single one of Jean’s actions.

The pair were meant to still be working on gathering as much information as they could for their final presentation and paper. Marco had sent the outlines and guideline over to Jean in a neat little shared folder hoping that once their first meeting had rolled around, Jean would at least know the gist of what they were heading into.

But from the second Jean had strolled into their pre-determined meeting point at the Starbucks on campus with nothing but a near-empty shoulder bag in tow, Marco had lost all hope.

They’d met to decide what parts to assign and what could be done on their own and after the small 30 minute get-together was over, Marco had walked away with more than he would’ve liked and Jean with too little to have it truly be called a “fair and even partnership”.

Now with weeks of supposed work passed, Marco couldn’t help the frown as he tried to make sense of what information they had and what they didn’t have. They’d tried to keep the bits and pieces together through emails and document sharing but as the smell of coffee drowned Marco’s head and with Jean’s constant humming of some kind of nursery rhyme, it was a miracle that Marco hadn’t already tried to stab a hole into his school planner.

The sound of his fingers clicking through the multiple windows on his laptop accompanied with the soothing sounds of the coffee shop – nothing like the hustle of Starbucks, didn’t necessarily help calm his nerves.

“Hey so like…”

Marco raises his eyes up for a split second to pass a glance at Jean.

He’s wearing what looks to be a normal gray tee shirt with small letters sewn into where it’s front pocket would be/ But the second Marco had gotten close enough to make out the details he’d loudly groaned as Jean chuckled at his annoyance. The words “nosey little fucker aren’t you” did little to ease the tension as Jean “explained” that his laptop had been in for “repairs and upgrades”.

But all Marco could hear was the sounds of another unproductive evening with the boy.

Jean takes Marco’s lack of response as the okay to keep talking. Marco keeps his head and eyes pointed to the laptop screen.

“So, like, you know how Dr. Smith and Levi never really walk into class together or are seen even near each other in public? But they’re supposed to be like glued to the hip as is per usual for professors and their student aides, right? Well me and Connie” Marco cringes internally at the poor grammar. “Connie’s an old friend by the way. Anyway we have this theory that there’s probably something going on between them, ya know. Like maybe they’re a thing in private and walking around in public would just make it real obvious because…. Well, you know. Reason? So what do you think?”

Silence, other than the buzz of the coffee machines, reigns over their table. Marco doesn’t say anything or look anywhere as he feels Jean’s eyes on his. They sit there, in silence, as Marco tries to go back to typing through a paragraph.

A loud _thunk_ echoes through the area around them as Marco’s head falls heavily onto the table next to his laptop.

Neither of them say anything as Marco slowly lifts his head back up and runs both hands down the sides of his face.

They don’t say anything as Marco stares into the distance and taps his nails onto the tabletop. He rests his chin on his other hand as he tries to not blink excessively.

Jean clears his throat. “I-I think I’m going to get a coffee.” Marco nods without glancing over. “Did you want anything?”

Marco breathes out heavily. He shakes his head and blinks back to look down at the screen. “No. I think I’m good for now. Maybe later.” _Like when you’re not here and I can actually enjoy a $4 drink._

As Jean stumbles to get out of his chair and trip to the counter, Marco takes a deep breath and stares at the screen hoping for something good to happen.

But it’s getting to be too much and Marco’s so close to snapping horribly in such a public place that there’s only one thing to do.

He clicks his way to a new search tab and maneuvers his way to his bookmark bar. There isn’t much there other than the saved school websites and reference pages. And the refuge that has always made Marco’s heart stutter in his chest.

The home screen flickers and with a practiced hand Marco scrolls through the menu and finds his favorite photographs.

The watermark feels so familiar and homely that Marco can feel himself calm down little by little. There isn’t any new pics for Marco to look and scroll through in muted obsession. As the semester gets going, Marco has noticed that the posts usually dissipates into a weekly event. It makes Marco wonder that maybe the artist could also be as young as a student still in school but dwelling on someone – no matter how idealistic and awe-inspiring their art is – was something Marco knew to be more unhealthy than anything.

For now all he could do was sit and stare and hope the veins throbbing in his forehead could flutter and ruminate in the thumping of his chest and butterflies in his stomach.

Honestly, it felt at times that he was falling in love with the art itself but there was nothing stopping Marco from that happening and when push came to shove, it made Marco happier; being able to admire something and divulge in senses that his major sometimes didn’t allow.

Five minutes of staring at his screen was not meant to do any harm so when he’s suddenly thrown back into the student-filled hub, Marco feels a bit violated for being taken from his mood.

Jean’s hovering over the back of Marco’s chair, his coffee placed in front of them next to where Marco’s hand is resting on the table.

“So you’re a photography person?”

Marco pauses for a second before finding his voice. “What?”

“You’re into photography? So who’s that?” There’s something about Jean’s voice that doesn’t sit right. Marco keeps himself from turning to look at the other guy but he can see from the corner of his eye that there’s a smirk on his face.

Marco’s hesitant about talking about something that feels too personal for the small coffee shop that’s growing more and more crowded as students start getting out of classes.

“Um- Well they’re just this photographer I found on this site a couple years ago?”

“Years?” Jean seems surprised at Marco’s reveal. He tries to hide the embarrassed blush – feeling ridiculous in front of the guy who he’s despised for the better part of the last few weeks.

“Yeah. I found them when I was still in high school. I don’t know their name but I’ve always like their pieces.”

“They look okay,” Jean says. It isn’t meant nor does it sound condescending but Marco falters for a second at the dismissiveness to it. As though Jean was critiquing the pieces rather than appreciating it.

Marco tries not to react when he sees Jean’s hand reach out to scroll through the screen. “Do you have any favorites?”

Surprised but the question, Marco takes a while to answer as he watches Jean scroll further and further down to look through the artist’s history. “I don’t really have a favorite. Never really thought about it.”

“Hmm,” Jean hums. “These newer ones at the top look kinda different from his old stuff, don’t they?”

“Um. Maybe. I don’t really do the whole analysis thing on these things.”

“Right.” Jean stays silent as he scrolls more. “Medicine really isn’t that similar to art theory after all. Speaking of which, what even got you into following this guy’s photos for “year” you said.”

Marco tries not to blush as Jean walks around the table and sits back down in front of Marco. “I can’t really explain it. It’s just- it isn’t something so easy to put into words. The photos seem to be taken from around Trost but the photographer seems so elusive and out of reach I sometimes feel like they might not even be real. I mean really though. How can someone take such an amazing photo like this with so much depth and dimension and still be human.”

Jean furrows his brows. “Are you saying your fave is an alien?” He chuckles a little too himself but Marco can see there’s a hesitance in him.

“Nothing stupid like that - no. They just seem so-so far away. They’re like the epitome of goals while also knocking me down off what 3 inch stool I’d tried to climb up in the past year”

“Do you take pictures too?” Jean says. There’s a gleam in his eyes that Marco can’t place but he brushes it off with a shake of his head

“No way. I mostly like to mess around with watercolors and simple things. Nothing so complex and intimidating. I don’t really have the time for any of that what with medical school coming up.”

“I’m sure he-they never meant to intimidate one of their fans. He probably loves that someone admires his work so much”

Marco doesn’t dwell on the switches in pronouns knowing full well that Jean doesn’t have a clue about the anonymous person behind the lens. “Well it doesn’t really matter.” Marco clicks out of the blog. “We should probably try to finish up the beginning of this paper so that we’re not terribly behind on the presentation aspect.  

Jean seems to go along with it but Marco senses that the levels of enthusiasm has gone down and the giggling at Marco’s use of technical terms for the male anatomy has become nearly nonexistent.

They try to get through as much as they can with the little time they have before crowds of people make it hard for them to even hear each other.

The change in atmosphere does throw Marco off for just the second but he takes the silence from Jean’s end in stride. He sits typing at his laptop as Jean starts his process of looking and searching on his phone for things they could add to their presentation. But other than the few tinny comments from one to the other, they work in relative silence.

They separate that night with what Marco knows is an empty promise from Jean to do more research on his own.

There’s a bit of hope that Jean will keep to his promise and do something more than swipe at his smartphone’s screen with eyebrows furrowed in concentration, but Marco’s learned over the weeks to not keep his fingers crossed to tight.

**Author's Note:**

> ....definitely not me, tell a friend.
> 
> Writing this thing felt like pulling teeth at times. what with being gone and then getting sick this past week or so and the fact that I haven't properly written in over 5 months
> 
> but here's chapter 1 and I hope you like it. I have no idea when the rest of this will be written and posted so just keep bothering me on social media if it's getting to be forever. I just graduated uni and I have a new adult job so I'm still getting used to early mornings with no naps so bear with me
> 
> my artists have been super patient with me and I feel truly blessed and thankful that they understand I'm a mess. being able to collab was an experience and the fact that I can say I have art for one of my fics is a check off my bucket list
> 
> [acequeenm's drawing](link) for chapter 1  
> [commodorecliche's drawing]() for chapter 2
> 
> [acequeenm tumblr](http://acequeenm.tumblr.com/)   
>  [commodorecliche](http://commodorecliche.tumblr.com/)   
>  [i have a tumblr](http://mamaarachne.tumblr.com/)


End file.
